Shackled City (Pathfinder) - GM_Chris

Game Master Chris Shannon 719

Round 9, Initiative 14, Location AS59

Atol watches the devil blight Finneas... again. He rushes to his side and converts a Spiritual Cudgel to a Cure Moderate Wounds healing 2d8 + 6 ⇒ (3, 4) + 6 = 13.

Do we sacrifice our freedom to survive? At least it's not demon... Still, I wonder. Dyrant should decide, but perhaps I can begin the conversation and then step aside.

"So, Devil, what are your terms of surrender? Clearly you are a powerful force as, clearly, are we. Perhaps we can find some common ground without further bloodshed."

"They are quite simple. You lay down your weapons, your holy symbols, your potions, your scrolls, your wands, and so forth. The kuo-toa will collect them while I observe the proceedings. Then you will be presented to the smoking eye for judgement."

Round 9, Init 23

Dyrant turns to see the blessed mists disappear and new mists appear.

Well, that is interesting. I hope those mists are as protective and loving as St. Cuthbert's mists.

"Foolish devil. You'll never stop the servants of St. Cuthbert!"

Dyrant will pull out a scroll and begin a full-round spell prayer.

Summon Monster III.

The angels will deal with this devil.

If she's not a god - then she can be killed!

"Hey! If you're not a god, then you can be killed! Come down here and stop doing all that bad stuff!"

I forgot Cog last round, who would've bit at the frog man attacking Glimmil.

Cog attack (bite, power, bless): 1d20 + 5 + 1 ⇒ (3) + 5 + 1 = 9
Cog damage (bite, power): 1d6 + 6 ⇒ (3) + 6 = 9
Conceal: 1d100 ⇒ 25
Cog trip: 1d20 + 6 + 1 ⇒ (18) + 6 + 1 = 25

Then there's this round, where Cog would continue to do so, hopefully getting a trip in so that Glimmil can load his sling without an AoO.

Cog attack (bite, power, bless): 1d20 + 5 + 1 ⇒ (17) + 5 + 1 = 23
Cog damage (bite, power): 1d6 + 6 ⇒ (4) + 6 = 10
Conceal: 1d100 ⇒ 4
Cog trip: 1d20 + 6 + 1 ⇒ (10) + 6 + 1 = 17

Finally, Glimmil guides Cog a step away from the frog-man (to AT,58) and loads his sling, readying a bullet for the evil devil woman again.

Readied Sling Smitage: 1d20 + 8 + 1 + 3 ⇒ (3) + 8 + 1 + 3 = 15 for 1d3 + 2 + 1 + 1 + 10 ⇒ (2) + 2 + 1 + 1 + 10 = 16
Conceal: 1d100 ⇒ 70

"It's a paradox, really. You'd rather just kill us. And yet the Smoking Eye is sure to have us executed. Why not just do his job for him now, harpy? Why should we make it easy for you?"

"Must you always assume the worst. You know many evil people. They live among you and don't kill you. You make my job of keeping you alive difficult, but I will still be within the terms of my agreement if you accidentally die. I have no obligation to put myself at risk unnecessarily. Protect this place and bring intruders to the smoking eye. It's rather simplistic, but so are the kuo-toa."

Round 9 so far
Dyrant = 23 - pull out scroll, start summon
Atol = 14 - move and heal Finneas
Finneas = 13 - TBD
Toffitt = 12 - miss
Glimmil = 11+ - miss kuo-toa on conceal, can't see erineys at this point
Kuo-toas & erinyes = 11

Finneas still with actions since he was healed by Atol before his initiative.

Confirming the mist is from 0'-40'? When you said it was at 20 I wasn't sure if that was where it started for the 20' radius or ended.

Round 11 Init 13

The idea was to have the mist 5' off the ground and then up so we could attack anything at ground level and force her to descend. I didn't realize her Unholy Blight was quite so...awesome.

Finneas wakes up from his third nap of the fight.

"I need to stop going under like that."

He stands and heals himself further.

CLW 1d8 + 4 ⇒ (4) + 4 = 8

"Actually, I am less concerned about their evil, and more concerned about the Smoking Eye's desire to revenge the death of his people. I know many a 'good' person who rushes into revenge, cudgel drawn."

Spellcraft for the Unholy Blight 1d20 + 13 ⇒ (10) + 13 = 23

Erinyes delays in initiative order.

"Dimiss the fog. Lay down your weapons and raise your hands above your heads. I cannot make any promises as to the dwarf's desire for revenge."

Yes. That's not a typo.

The kuo-toa also delay.

If Dyrant could answer (he's in the middle of reading a very very long scroll), he would remind the dimwitted and obviously arcanically-deficient devilress that that Fog Cloud cannot be dismissed save by strong breezes, much like the yapping that comes from her flapping lips. But, since Dyrant is otherwise occupied, will continue reading and say nothing.

Interesting. Didn't realize you couldn't dismiss it, but my quick research shows you're right. Change that to...

"Lay down your weapons. Raise your hands. The kuo-toa will lead you to the dwarf."

You're up in initiative. Are you completing that scroll? Are you doing anything else?

Round 10
Erinyes & Kuo-toa (delaying from round 9)
Dyrant = 23 -
Atol = 14 -
Finneas = 13 -
Toffitt = 12 -
Glimmil = 11+ -

The spin of Glimmil's sling begins to lose some momentum as the erinyes discusses leading everyone to a dwarf in a language he can comprehend.

Is that the dwarf we're looking for?

"Hey guys, do you think this is THE dwarf we're looking for?"

Round 10, Initiative 14, Location AS59

Atol hesitates, goes over the scrolls he has in his mind, and considers his current spells.

Spiritual Weapon is it. And no one else does any decent damage at range. She can sit up there and pick us off one at a time or as a group and I can't stop her. ...and with her flying around we cannot outrun her.

He converts a Bless spell to a Cure Light Wounds and touches himself for 1d8 + 5 ⇒ (6) + 5 = 11 healing.

At least I can now survive another of her attacks if need be.

Atol sets down his cudgel and his pack.

"As you wish. I'll come with you to meet this eye and be judged."

"The Smoking Eye is the dwarf?! Well then, why didn't you say so?" Toffitt lowers his weapon, but waits for group consensus before surrendering it.

Dyrant stops reading his scroll and ponders.

GM Chris, I'll ping you in the morning about this.

Finneas stands quietly while the others jabber. He takes the opportunity to heal himself again.

CLW: 1d8 + 4 ⇒ (5) + 4 = 9

The erinyes flies to the edge of the fog to check on Dyrant's compliance. He floats there with one hand holding the scroll and the other clenching his holy symbol. He floats toward the center of the room and then starts for the middle doors. The erinyes tells him to stop, but he continues to the door, opens it, and shouts to the party,"I'll be back for you! The Caulrdon Five will survive!"

The erinyes flies closer to him and throws the end of her rope at him, but misses. Dyrant flies out of the door.
1d20 + 15 ⇒ (1) + 15 = 16

The erinyes teleports ahead of Dyrant and catches him as he flees out of the temple. She returns slowly with Dyrant resembling a rope mummy. A smile can be seen on his face though as he clutches his holy symbol trapped beneath the ropes.
1d20 + 15 ⇒ (12) + 15 = 27

The kuo-toas gather up the party's weapons, holy symbols, and possessions (backpacks, etc). They're fairly diligent, so any attempt to hold onto something will require a sleight of hand. They pile the equipment on the platform in front of the statue's midsection.

The party is led to the upper level, across the drawbridges, and through the double doors. They are brought through the door on the left into a chamber with frescoes that depict kou-toas emerging from the sea and marching into holes in the ground.

From here the party goes through a set of double stone doors in the north-eastern corner. In the next room against the north wall sits a throne made of what looks like stitched-together skin. Four slender pillars surround a faintly luminescent circle about five feet across, carved into the stone of the floor. To either side of the throne hang banners depicting a dwarf in blue and white armor holding a waraxe aloft. Both banners are apparently upside-down. Hanging by their feet from nooses attached to the 30-foot ceiling are dozens of rotting corpses, each with the top of its head removed. The headless corpses twitch in a pale mockery of life and whispers can be heard coming from the headless corpses, "Doom. Doom. Doom."

The erinyes stands by the door as the two kuo-toas take flanking positions along the walls.

A tired-looking dwarf slumps in the throne, a glowing sphere in his hand and an axe across his lap. He regards the erinyes. "I foresaw your arrival. I thank you for your services. You may leave us."

The erinyes turns to the party, "Until we meet again. Perhaps I will have more time to play with you. In the meantime, I will keep a memento." She rips a chunk of hair from Dyrant's head and pops out of existence along with her rope. Dyrant is dropped to the ground, still clutching his holy symbol.

The dwarf remains seated. "Doom and suffering. Doom and suffering. There is nothing else here and nothing else needed."

New map

Dwarf and throne

Glimmil struggles for a bit in relinquishing his axe, hammer and sling to the frog-men, but acquiesces given the presumed opportunity to rescue the dwarf they came here for.

In the new throne room, Glimmil walks along casually at Cog's side, the frescoes capturing his attention.

We need frescoes in New Jzadirune -- of Cog and me and our adventures!

As the dwarf speaks, Glimmil's mind continues to flutter with possible frescoes depicting his own heroic deeds and the words flow through one of his gnomish ears and out the other.

Finally realizing the dwarf has finished speaking, and he's ended up in front of everyone else, Glimmil manages a short bow.

"Hi! We're err, here to save you!" he offers.

"Save me? How will you save me? How will you free me from these shackles?" He shakes his unbound wrists at Glimmil.

"The Smoking Eye, I presume. I am Doctor Abner Svengalu Toffitt. As my friend Glimmil said, your father sent us here to rescue you. But it seems he misunderstands what sort of rescue you require. What would you desire from us, sir, outside of a return to your father?"

Diplomacy 1d20 + 10 + 2 ⇒ (19) + 10 + 2 = 31

Knowledge (Natire) / Heal check to determine race of headless corpses & how long they've been dead. 1d20 + 12 + 2 ⇒ (7) + 12 + 2 = 21

"My father! My father! He knows nothing! He would do nothing."

"I am a child of the smoking eye now. Now I know all there is to know."

The dwarf considers the doctor's smooth reasoned voice, "I desire you to assist me. Together we can purge the underdark. My first army was not up to the task. My new army will lead me to glory!"

"Ah, yes. The Underdark is full of that which begs for purging." Like yourself, it seems. "It is clear that your father does not understand the nature of the threat that you face." Insanity. "What dread foe would you have us purge? Where shall we and your armies march?"

Dyrant rubs his hand where the he gripped his holy symbol with white knuckles, savoring the small victory and still feeling quite insolent towards the Erinyes.

I may have lost the battle, but St. Cuthbert's Will is more than just a battle. He is the unending war of common sense over all.

Dyrant looks around the room and sneers at headless corpses, revolted by the uncouth nature of the display.

"How did you get here, dwarf? Tell me your story," Dyrant asks, unbroken by his capture.

"My brethren and I marched from Cauldron to earn our glory and purge the underdark. We fought hideous things. Bit by bit my unworthy army succumbed. The last of them were sacrifced by these creatures." He points to the kuo-toa. "But I was reborn in their blood. The smoking eye gave me their language and their obedience. It has given me yours. Devils and angels serve me."

"We shall march into the darkness and we will leave nothing but blood, blood, and bones."

"Sir, I think you will find that my friends talents... They do not lend themselves to placement in a regimented troop. Have you any special orders for us?"

"None are too good for the field of battle. Otherwise they are no good to me except as as a sacrifice." The dwarf strokes the edge of his axe.

"But a test to prove your loyalty would be good. The smoking eye screams 'betrayal' at you. There is a creature that vexes me. Even when I am warned of its arrival, it still escapes. No cage can hold it and my shaman's electricity hinders it not."

"I will return to each of you a single weapon and send you out of the fortress. Carry my banner forth and bring me back it's body or do not return at all. Your possessions are your ransom. Do not ask me what it looks like. You will know it when you see it."

Finneas shakes his head and follows along, not happy with this failure but understanding.

The way of Kord is strength, I have failed again.

"Does anybody know what is going on here?"

Other voice: Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! No one knows!
Female voice: Oh great. He's back.
Male voice: That wasn't me laughing.
Female voice: I know dear.

Other voice: Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! No one knows!

lol@GM Chris.

"Slay a creature for you?" Dyrant spits on the ground. "And what happens when we return? What of it?"

"Sir, we are a complicated troupe of actors. Without my alchemical supplies and blade, I can be of little service to you. With them, I can slay mighty foes. I think you will find my companions to have similar strengths and limitations. Would you consent to give us our magical components, as well as a weapon?"

Diplomacy 1d20 + 10 + 2 ⇒ (18) + 10 + 2 = 30

GM_Chris wrote:

Other voice: Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! No one knows!

lol@GM Chris.

"Slay a creature for you?" Dyrant spits on the ground. "And what happens when we return? What of it?"

"Then you will have proven yourself worthy!"

"You may take a weapon as well as ingredients for your spells. Maybe you will have what it takes to bring down the accursed light."

"Yeah, I'm not much good without my stuff. If you really want this thing dead I'll need it."

Be quite all of you!

Diplomacy Assist: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (5) + 2 = 7

Or not.

"Once we slay this creature, where will we and the rest of your armies march? What sort of creature is it?"

Chris, did they take away clothing items and armor? Such as Toffitt's cloak of resistance, slippers of spider climbing, amulet of natural armor...? Would it require some skill check to convince them that his potions are a part of his 'ingredients?'

Dyrant smiles in quasi-agreement.

I will not agree to this yet.

"We require a night of rest before we leave. We spent many resources killing many of your troops. If you want to ensure our success we leave in the 'morning'...or whatever the functional equivalent is in this sunless, dank abyss." Dyrant says as he re-attaches his backpack to his back.

Backpacks and weapons were taken. You have armor, boots, cloaks, rings, etc.

"I have a few cells left you could share. Or I could sacrifice the two in there to make space for you."

Would it require some skill check to convince them that his potions are a part of his 'ingredients?'

You could take those too.

"Why sacrifice them when we could use them as bait on our quest?"

"My most important spell component is in this box." Dyrant reaches into his backpack and reaches out for a small box. He places the box into his spell component pouch.

"We will see about this creature, nothing more. I will not promise to do your bidding."

"You will bring the creature to me. I have seen it. It means doom, death and destruction."

The party will be led off to the cells. The party is divided up Glimmil & Cog, Dyrant & Atol, and Finneas gets a cell to himself. The other prisoners are still there.

The party can take the time to evaluate their situation, reflect on their successes and failures, and wake up as level 7 in the morning. The dwarf offers no healing, but you can burn through anything else that is left.

Woot! Where does Toffitt sleep? With the erinyes? So he can steal her wings?

Glimmils head bounces back and forth between speakers as he lets the others talk and sort out the details.

So, we need to go kill something for this dwarf? Is the dwarf a do-badder? He shouldn't be if we were supposed to save him, right? Maybe he's possessed?

Glimmil stands lost in his thoughts until everyone is led to cells and allowed to rest. Here, he curls up next to Cog and attempts to get some sleep, praying briefly to Garl Glittergold while he and the others are escorted.

Quick channel energy (using 2x Lay of Hands) from Glimmil before rest!: 3d6 ⇒ (3, 6, 6) = 15

Finneas heads to his cell with the others. Seeing himself alone, he finished healing himself and then begins to work out.

"Sorry we didn't get to rescue you guys. Maybe next time?"

*********************************************

Later that night, as Finneas sleeps.

Fifth voice: Finneas. Finneas. FINNEAS!
What, I'm awake, I'm awake!
Fifth voice: Actually you're not. I have come to you, as you called me.
Another one? I didn't call you, let me go back to sleep. More sleep.
Fifth: No Finneas. You must proselytize, you must teach others my way.
The way of crazy? I don't even know what that word means.
Fifth: You must show others the way of Kord. You will become his prophet in Cauldron, and I your guide.
Another voice in my head telling me what to do? No thanks.
Fifth: You have no choice Finneas, you will spread the word of Kord.
I don't know how to do that.
Fifth: You shall take to the streets, you shall...
Huh? Like Dyrant?
Fifth: You know what, you're about as useful as the slow one. Ok, let's do this. Teach people through your rage what it means to be strong, like Kord.
So, hit people with my sword and shout out Kord while I do it?
Fifth: It's a start.

******************************************

Finneas wakes up early the next morning and begins to work out in his cell.

"Wooo hooo, Kord! Isn't Kord great guys? He helped us through this. Even though we're in a cell. In the dark. Held by frogs. Woo Kord!"

Female voice: I don't think that's what he meant.
Male voice: I'm sold.
He didn't take you with him?
Fifth voice: Take them where, I never left.
Oh #$%^.

Good start to the morning.

Atol, his mind wandering with family thoughts, considers what the dwarf is offering.

Our 'stuff' back for a kidnapping? I don't like the sound of that. Perhaps the enemy of our enemy is an enemy as well, but it just feels wrong. I'm sure the others will object.

Atol stands dumbly by as they agree to the mad dwarfs plan.

As he walks back to his cell, he converts his remaining lower level spells to healing for any and all who need it, taking two cure lights wounds for himself and converting two cure moderates for others as needed.

Just before bedding down however, he casts Daylight so everyone has, at least for an hour, the warm embrace of the sun.

"Let us not forget why we fight. We do NOT fight for the Dwarf, but rather for the larger good in the world. Dyrant, please lead us in prayer while the Sun of St. Cuthbert lasts."

Atol looks to Dyrant for guidance and solace in the cell...

Cure Light Wounds for 1d8 + 5 ⇒ (2) + 5 = 7

Cure Light Wounds for 1d8 + 5 ⇒ (5) + 5 = 10

Lol@Finn. 5th voice!?

Dyrant switches between sullen despondence and willful disobedience as they are escorted to the cell, part of the time talking big about St. Cuthbert's plans for revenge and other times crying gently and grasping his holy symbol.

By the time he reaches the cells, Dyrant's mental energies have mostly faded and instead he retreats into his own mind to dwell on his failure...again.

The night does not pass easily for Dyrant, his mind still wracked with the guilt of his inability to cope with one measly, stupid devil and her bow.

In the middle of the night, Dyrant awakes with a start to check on Angel and he box he had briefly stolen from him. He also checks his holy symbol to make sure it lies around his neck like it has for over 20 years.

I cannot sleep with this much failure on me. The others know it so well it does not wear on them.

Dyrant rises and walks to the cell doors and faces out between the bars, the best thing he thinks he can get to privacy and begins to pray for forgiveness.

Dyrant will pray and cry and moan until he has no more tears left to cry and no more voice to give to St. Cuthbert.

Early risers in the morning will find him still kneeling by the cells, asleep with his face pushed between the bars, a line of spittle-drool going from his lips to the floor.

Atol wakes early having slept the comfortable sleep of one who does not make the decisions...

He sees Dyrant propped up against the bars and goes to him. He gently carries him to the mat and rests him upon it. He whispers a few prayers to St. Cuthbert as he does so, and considers memorizing Lessor Restoration to lift the fatigue on his friend.

The mantle of leadership is hard. I must be more like Dyrant and try to lift some of his burden. I must learn to be better at preaching, better at being a Priest. He has so much to teach me...

Nice imagery.

Glimmil tosses and turns in his sleep, more from eagerness for yet more adventures coming in the morrow than from any awareness or anxiety from being locked in a cell.

I wonder if it's another dragon... Maybe a bigger one this time? I thought the last one was a bit of a fake, it didn't even breathe fire...

Rubbing his eyes in the "morning" after waking, Glimmil leaps to his feet and begins putting on his shiny armor, rubbing it with the back of his hand and blowing on it to improve it's reflective qualities.

As he hears Finneas woo-ing, hoo-ing and grunting from a nearby cell, he takes it as a good sign.

"Woo! Finneas! Hoo! Kord!"

The human gods are so strange... Cuthbert. Kord.

Glimmil shrugs and nods, knowing that he's the least "crazy" member of the Cauldron Five, and that he has much to do today.